


12% Weapon Accuracy

by mawmawile



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dimension Travel, Female Reader, Panic Attacks, Reader is Widowmaker, Reader is toxic, Reader-Insert, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24747001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mawmawile/pseuds/mawmawile
Summary: Your bad Widowmaker tilts a Mercy main. Little do you know that this Mercy main is actually a powerful witch who easily angers. You're sent into the world of Overwatch, waking up as Widowmaker. Will the rest of Talon notice? Will you change things? Will you ever get back home?And... what happened to Amélie Lacroix?
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

So, you’re Widowmaker now.

That’s a lot to take in all at once, so here’s a little bit of context.

Last night you decided to play some Overwatch. You hadn’t played it for almost two years, but the game seemed to pop back into your life all of a sudden, and you finally caved in and bought it again. Since you’ve last played, a few more heroes and maps have been released, and almost everyone is different than before.

It’s been about two weeks since you’ve rebought the game. Like before, you’re thoroughly obsessed with it. You play it for hours on end on your off days, and well into the night after work.

This specific night, you decided you wanted to hone your sniping skills. Often you would joke you’re a Mei-n just so you didn’t have to aim. But even Mei could benefit from _some_ good aim, and what better way to practice than to play Widowmaker, one of the most aim-heavy heroes in the game?

As expected, your tries went pretty bad. After checking your stats, you ended up with an impressive 12% weapon accuracy. If your team lost, it was your fault; if your team won, it was because you were carried. Discouraged by your lame plays, you queued into one last game. After about five minutes in a skirmish you were finally placed in Hanamura on defense. There’s a lot of good places there for Widowmaker, so even if you couldn’t aim you had good variety.

The set up timer ticked down as you set up your nest. From your perch, you couldn’t see all of the enemies bouncing around behind the spawn doors, but you called out those you did.

Within the first ten seconds, you were immediately sniped by an enemy Hanzo.

The rest of the match proceeded in a similar way. You grapple up to high ground, miss a headshot, get the attention of the entire attacking team, and die as you run away screaming with a venom mine and SMG in tow.

You’re swinging up to high ground on point B when your Mercy started talking.

“Widow stop feeding,” said the Mercy, who sounded like a college-aged woman.

“I’m not feeding!” you immediately answered. “...Okay, I’m feeding. But I’m practicing Widow!”

“You can practice sometime else, right now—” Mercy swore violently, after being melted by the enemy. “ _Someone_ deal with this Tracer!”

“Maybe Tracer wouldn’t be a problem if you’d wait for your team!” You didn’t mean to retort, given that this was Quick Play. But the damage is done, and Mercy’s fucking pissed.

“What team? You mean the one who can’t aim and keeps feeding the other team?” Mercy seethed. “I might as well throw myself into their frontlines!”

“That’s what you’re doing!” you shouted back. “Have you thought that maybe, you’re the one feeding?”

“Toxic…” the other support, Moira, chimed in.

“ _I’m_ not toxic!” you said. “I’m just trying to play Overwatch in peace!”

“How do you think I feel?” Mercy said angrily. “I keep getting killed because no one’s here to protect me!”

“Guys, just mute the Mercy and Widow,” our Sigma said.

You huffed angrily, trying to ignore whatever Mercy said afterwards (there was a lot of swearing). Surprisingly, you’re able to land a headshot on that pesky Tracer. You couldn’t help yourself when you said, “There, are you happy now?”

“Fuck you! Is that the first kill you got all game?”

Yes. But you’re not going to let _her_ know.

The kill is just what you need to finally fill your ultimate charge. However, it’s much too late. As you were busy scoped in watching the enemy, a sole Sombra came in and claimed point B for herself.

You and your team were polite to the winners, but Mercy rubbed the loss in with an insincere “sorry our widow was throwing :)”.

“What the hell? You were the one who kept feeding!” you yelled.

“At least I was trying, bitch!” she yelled back. By this point, our other teammates had already left.

“Trying to lose, that’s what!”

“You know what?” Mercy said with an eerie calmness. “You like being Widowmaker so much, why don’t you just _be_ her?”

“THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN DOING!” But Mercy was already gone.

The rest of the evening flew past; you barely remembered any of it. Honestly, though, you could guess what transpired. You raged for a while, took a shower, then went to bed while scrolling aimlessly through your phone. What happened last night was not the issue.

The issue was what happened this morning.

You woke up in a dark room. Initially, you thought nothing of it given how your curtains were perpetually drawn shut. You stood up, your back aching. “Christ, my posture sucks.”

You paused.

That’s not your voice. You cough to clear your throat. “Hello?”

That… still was not your voice.

You repeated this, coughing and speaking for a good while. Nothing changed. Your throat didn’t hurt, yet your voice was deeper than usual. That really wasn’t anything to worry about, you told yourself, but you felt a prick at the back of your neck warning you that _something_ was wrong. Just what, you couldn’t tell.

“Okay. I’m just… sleep deprived, or something.” You tried to speak in your normal register, but even then it didn’t feel right.

Whatever. You felt around for your lamp, but couldn’t find it. What was going on? You began to feel more and more nervous. Feeling around for your phone brought about the same result—even more nerve wracking, given that you fell asleep with it in your hands.

Your hand was on the wall when you felt a lightswitch under your fingers. A lightswitch you never had. Nonetheless, you flick it, now able to see a fully-lit unfamiliar room.

The room was plain, outfitted with a low cot, nightstand, and wardrobe and mirror. The floor was white linoleum, with a fluffy black rug beside the bed. The white walls lacked any windows or decorations. Leaning at the foot of the bed was some kind of purple gun.

Your head was spinning. It felt like you were just punched in the face, panic building inside of you despite how calm everything was. You were both attuned to every stimuli as well as numb to the world.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed something moving in the mirror. Swiftly, you spun around, only to see nothing behind you.

You turned back around, and caught a face in the mirror.

The face had unnaturally blue skin and yellow eyes, staring forward in a look of shock. Their hair was pitch dark, flowing down their back. You put your hand to your cheek; the face put a hand to their cheek. You knew this face.

This was the face of Widowmaker.

You fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't know why I thought this was so funny.
> 
> Some notes:  
> -I don't know how to play Widow. But to practice my aim I pick her in skirmish and try to get headshots. (Is there a better way to get good at aim? Let me know lol Overwatch forums)  
> -I'm not toxic :( I always ggs and never trash my team. I also only do QP and never go VC  
> -READER IS SO TOXIC LOL  
> -I used to play OW on xbox then rebought it ~2 years later on PC. I'm putting the same thing on dear reader  
> -This is just a fun little thing, so don't expect constant updates, if any.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on 12% Weapon Accuracy: Reader enjoys a nice, tilting game of Overwatch. Some time later, she finds herself in an unfamiliar place, with an unfamiliar face.

“—nothing seems to be wrong. I don’t see why you’re so worried, she probably just fell asleep on the floor.”

Your vision came in hazily. The only things you were aware of were an obnoxiously bright overhead lamp, and two voices talking amongst themselves.

“Are you trying to tell me that’s normal?”

“If she doesn’t want to sleep in a bed that’s nothing to be concerned about. As long as she’s not injured or sick she has every right to act strange.”

“You are so annoying.”

You began to come to, and you put your arm behind you to prop yourself up. Blinking, you examine the room you woke up in. It wasn’t the dark sleeping quarters from earlier, but just as unfamiliar. It seemed to be some kind of infirmary, with many beeping and flashing devices abound.

Standing around you were two women that you—were you still dreaming? You slapped your (blue) forearm, hard.

Ouch, definitely not dreaming.

You _knew_ those two women, or at least who they were dressed as. They were more familiar faces from Overwatch—Sombra and Moira—and the absurdity of it all made you want to laugh.

Maybe this was some kind of prank? It was certainly a bad one, given that you’d been kidnapped to achieve it, but it would make more sense than any other alternative. But, how could any prankster reconfigure your facial structure? Or make your skin look so realistically blue?

Well, that would involve you actually _becoming_ Widowmaker. Something that is blatantly impossible.

“Is… is this some kind of joke?” you asked weakly to the lookalikes.

“You think she hit her head or something?” the Sombra-lookalike said snidely.

“Did you not hear me?” the woman who looked like Moira said with a scoff. “I said there’s nothing _physically_ wrong.”

“Hold on!” you interrupted, disliking how they completely talked over you. “What’s going on?”

The fake Moira regarded you with a curious expression, but said nothing of her thoughts. “You were found passed out on the floor of your quarters. We know this because Sombra took the liberty of breaking in to disturb you.”

“You don’t mind, do you Amélie?” The fake Sombra shot you a cheeky smile.

“At least _pretend_ to have some respect for security.”

Fake-Sombra put her hands up in defense, as if she were actually offended. “Hey, not my fault you guys make it easy for me!”

You stood up to meet their eye level. “Stop it! What’s going on? Where am I, and who are you?”

Fake-Moira drew in a sharp breath, fixing you with a look that made you freeze. “Who am I? Did I hear you correctly, now?”

“Amélie, you’re a damn riot!” Fake-Sombra started laughing hysterically. “Moira, I see what’s going on, she’s finally got a sense of humor! Thanks to yours truly, of course.”

“Of course it was you.” Fake-Moira rolled her eyes. “Amélie. You know I can’t stand that brat’s practical ‘jokes.’ Try it on me again, and I’ll dismantle you, personally.”

“Yeesh. Who stuck a stick up your ass?” Fake-Sombra reached over and grabbed your arm, and began dragging you out of the infirmary. “Anyways, _médica_ , we’ll get outta your hair now. _Adiós_!”

You were pulled completely out of the room as Moira sucked her teeth in annoyance.

“So, I wanna have a talk, _araña_. Just you and me.” Fake-Sombra still hadn’t let go of your arm.

“Okay…?”

Sombra shot you a frown, an expression that left as quickly as it came, but said nothing of how she felt.

Eventually, she shoved you through a doorway similar to yours. Inside, was a similarly-sized living quarters, albeit much busier and more colorful. Every inch of the grey walls were covered by something. Some were posters for TV shows or games, some were Sombra’s personal notes and conspiracy theories, some were fliers and notices stolen from all the places she’d been before. In the corner of the room, there sat a wooden computer desk and a gamer chair; the desk was as busy as the walls. Besides a computer and multiple monitors, there were also dauntingly-high stacks of paper and books, two gaming machines, and spare electronic parts.

“Sit.” She nudged you to sit on her bed. Somehow she had managed to drag in a more comfortable mattress and purple comforter, in stark contrast to the stiff standard-issue cots.

You looked up at her. You didn’t notice before, but she _was_ shorter than you. But with her standing over at you, you felt so small.

“What are you playing at, Amélie?” Sombra’s eternally amused expression broke. But to describe the look on her face now, whether it was anger or disappointment or confusion, was impossible for you. “You can lie to Moira, but you can’t lie to me.”

“What’s going on? Is my family in on the joke or something?” You asked. With the confusion of waking up again past you, you were starting to panic. Fear bubbled in your chest—you felt dizzy again. Everything seemed so close, so distant. Surely it’s all a prank! Or an elaborate dream! Or, something… something that at least _makes sense_. But no one would tell you what was going on, and everything seemed more and more absurd by the second. You could hear your heart pounding in your head. You—

“ _Araña_!” Sombra clamped her hands on your shoulders. “Breathe!”

For a moment, you listened to her. _In_ , _out_. _Inhale_ , _exhale_. You didn’t feel okay, not in the slightest, but you at least no longer felt like you were choking.

“Sorry, I’m—” You forced yourself to make eye contact with her. “—just really confused.”

Sombra drew her hands back. “Why?”

“What do you mean _why_? I woke up in a strange place, looking nothing like myself, having unfamiliar people talk to me like they _know me_ , and you’re asking why?” you ranted. Something deep inside you resisted, not wanting to get angry at Sombra, but you _had_ to.

Sombra didn’t respond. Not right away, at least. “Do you remember _anything_ about Talon?”

Talon. Something in the word made you snap. You jumped up in fury. “TALON?! It’s not real! _Sombra’s_ not real! _Moira’s_ not real! _OVERWATCH_ is not real! I don’t know who you are and why you chose _me_ to get your kicks for _whatever_ perverse shit this is, but I’m _not_ going to take it!”

“Amélie—”

“THAT’S NOT MY FUCKING NAME!” Your voice was hoarse from screaming.

_Inhale_. _Exhale_. _In_. _Out_.

Sombra’s face was unreadable. Her lips were pressed into a hard, thin line, eyes trained on you. “Alright.”

“Huh?” You certainly didn’t expect a passive response.

“If I’m not real, if any of those things aren’t real, what are they then?” Sombra asked. Her voice betrayed nothing.

“You’re… Sombra’s just… a video game character. Overwatch is just a video game.” You huffed. “You can’t just _accidentally_ dress like Sombra! No normal person dresses like that!”

“You offend me, _araña_ .” Sombra acted annoyed, but a smirk graced her face. Strangely, the sight made your heart lift a little. You _did_ like Sombra, ever since you met her, and you weren’t very happy to blow up in her face.

“Sorry.”

“That’s twice you’ve apologized to me,” Sombra said. “It’s a good look on you.”

You realized what she was doing. “Don’t divert the conversation. Who are you?”

“Not a video game character, that’s who.” Sombra gave you a sharp look. “The question is, who are _you_?”

“I’m just… some random girl. Not—Amélie, or the Widowmaker, or whatever. I’m only 19. Please. I want to go home.” Quiet, hot tears streamed down your face.

You wondered what was going through Sombra’s mind. A brief moment of uncertainty flashed through you. Did you really wake up, replacing someone she loved? Was she laughing at the absurdity as much as you were?

No, it couldn’t be true.

She was a liar. She knew exactly who you were.

Right?

It was the answer that brought you the most clarity.

“Not Amélie. Then who are you?” Sombra tilted her head curiously. Was she angry? Afraid, even? You couldn’t tell.

“My name is Y/N.”


End file.
